Page 27 of Isabel and the Rogue

The words, uttered with so much affection and love, came back to Isabel now as she stared into the mirror as her maid, Lupe, arranged her hair. And it wasn’t just Abuelita’s hair that Isabel inherited from her, she noted. It was her warm olive-toned skin. Her broad nose. Her high cheekbones. Her deep, dark eyes. Isabel knew she’d inherited her bow-shaped lips, as well as her height, from her mother, for Abuelita had been a tiny thing, but it was readily apparent to anyone who looked which side of the family Isabel favored.

Considering the long glances she received when she entered a room, and the arched brows and pinched lips that followed, it was easy to see how some people found fault with her features.

After Lupe had quit the room, Isabel studied her reflection in the mirror again. Gabby had suggested she wear her new gold ball gown, explaining that it flattered her dark skin. Isabel had not thought much of her comment…until she considered herself in the gown now. The dress sat off the shoulders, highlighting the sweep of her collarbone and making the line of her neck seem delicate. The bodice narrowed to a belted waist, a detail she adored. The skirt’s tulle overlay was stitched with gold ivy that crawled up and down the material and almost appeared to stretch and grow as she twirled about. With her pinned updo displaying her array of corkscrew curls, adorned with a single white feather, even Isabel could admit she appeared graceful. Perhaps even pretty. Tilting her head to the side, she admired the small gold hoops Lupe had fastened in her ears, the understated elegance exactly to her taste.

For the first time in her life, Isabel fancied she looked like a woman who could hold the attention of a viscount. A woman who deserved compliments and praise for her beauty. Oh, Isabel knew her looks could never be compared to those of Gabby, who turned heads with her rich mahogany tresses and large hazel eyes that were framed by thick, inky lashes. But in this gold gown, Isabel felt bewitching and mysterious, like Xaratanga, the Purépecha goddess of the moon. Isabel knew she was being a bit dramatic, but for once she didn’t care.

An errant thought brought her up short: What would Captain Dawson think of her in this gown? Would he ask to dance with her again? Would he agree that the gold color seemed to illuminate her skin?

Sucking in a breath, Isabel slashed her hand through the air. Why was she concerned about Dawson when Lord Westhope had already made his interest clear? The viscount was a man of discernible tastes; he was well read and intelligent, and most importantly, Lord Westhope made her feel intelligent and interesting. Plus, he was handsome…even if his gilded looks could not compare with Captain Dawson’s fiery beauty. But why then did her heart not race like a runaway carriage when she saw the viscount? Why did the mere thought of Captain Dawson seeing her in this gown make her skin tingly and hot?

Turning from the mirror in a swish of gold skirts, Isabel reached for her reticule and ivory gloves, determined to put all thoughts of handsome men from her mind. Tonight would be a key opportunity for her, for she would be granted access to Lord Westhope’s home. To the rooms in which he kept his correspondence. His records. His deepest secrets. While the viscount had been forthcoming about his French relatives, there was a possibility one of them had passed along information to him, no matter how innocent. And if they had, Isabel was determined to find it.

Thirty minutes later, Isabel worried the inside of her cheek as she waited with Lady Yardley and Gabby in the receiving line to meet their host. Westhope House was teeming with guests, the din of their chatter paired with the music emanating from the ballroom making her tense and a tad off-balance. Still, Isabel tried to push aside her discomfort and focus on Lord Westhope instead. The viscount had no female relative to serve as hostess for him, so he stood at the end of the queue by himself and Isabel studied him, her heart heavy that he would be alone. For much of her childhood she had felt alone. The odd duck sister struggling to be seen between two lovely swans. But now, her sisters owned her heart, and there was nothing she wouldn’t do to ensure their happiness. Their safety. Even if it meant sneaking in and out of strangers’ personal spaces.

And if she were to find incriminating information in Lord Westhope’s belongings, was she brave enough to use it? Isabel liked to think she would be, but she truly admired the viscount. He had been nothing but generous to her, and his attentions had boosted her confidence. If he were to ask to court her in earnest, would she consent? She fidgeted with her reticule as she scrutinized him. Lord Westhope’s comely face was brightened by a smile as he greeted an elderly couple, and it reminded her that while the viscount was handsome, wealthy, and titled, he was also kind. Isabel had been judged by her own looks her entire life, and she would never dream of doing the same to someone else.

And yet despite all the positive things stacked in Lord Westhope’s favor, Isabel could not ignore the lack of excitement she felt when she was with him. She enjoyed his company and counted herself lucky to have won his regard and respect. But could she love him? Would she be as keen to spend time with him if he didn’t have information she wanted? Isabel frowned as she wondered if her concerns even mattered when her heart urged her to return to Mexico.

Before Isabel had much time to ponder that question, they reached the front of the queue. The viscount greeted Lady Yardley warmly, complimenting her on her beauty and inquiring after Dove. It was the perfect question to ask the older woman because the viscountess did so love to talk about her little dog. Next he greeted Gabby, and exchanged some lighthearted banter with her.

Isabel forced herself not to bite her lip when it was her turn to greet him, but he made it difficult. His green-eyed gaze fixed on her as a large grin spread over his face. Was he truly so delighted to see her?

“Miss Luna, you are a vision,” he declared, his eyes bright. “You look like an angel in that gown.”

Unable to help herself, Isabel grasped the folds of her skirts and showcased the lace carefully stitched to the hem of her gown. “Thank you, my lord.”

Lord Westhope continued to stare at her, until a throat discreetly cleared nearby. The viscount jolted a bit, and hastily reached out to grab Isabel’s hand. “Has your supper waltz been claimed yet?”

She almost laughed aloud. No one had ever secured her supper waltz. Instead, Isabel shook her head.

“Will you save it for me?” the viscount asked.

Isabel nodded again.

“Excellent,” he exclaimed. Raising her hand, he kissed the air over her knuckles. “I look forward to it, Miss Luna.”

In a bit of a daze, Isabel walked away to rejoin her sister and Lady Yardley.

“I swear, that man’s whole face lights up when he sees you,” the viscountess said as she led them toward the ballroom.

“If you marry Lord Westhope, Isa, you’ll be a viscountess just like her ladyship.” Gabby smirked as Lady Yardley looked back at her. “If both of you were in attendance at a dinner, who would enter first? Please say it would be Isa.”

“Gabby, stop antagonizing her ladyship,” Isabel murmured as they stepped into the ballroom. Her shoulders stiffened for a heartbeat, but she willfully turned her gaze about the space, identifying all the exits of the room. She would investigate where each corridor led soon.

Lady Yardley was greeted almost immediately by a group of matrons, and she walked away with them, chattering happily. Gabby wrapped her arm around Isabel’s and led her around the edge of the ballroom, smiling benignly at the people who called out greetings to her.

“Goodness, I hope he doesn’t ask for a dance,” Gabby murmured into her ear about the Marquess of Clare as he passed. “I’m convinced that man doesn’t know what tooth powder is.”

“A waltz is a long time to spend with a foul-smelling man breathing down on you.”

“Indeed.” Gabby shifted her hazel eyes to the other side of the room. “Do you know if Ana and Gideon will be here tonight?”

“They won’t be.” Isabel dipped her head at an elderly countess as they passed. “They’re dining with Lord and Lady Montrose.”

“Oh, that’s right. Something to do with Gideon’s work, yes?”

Isabel snorted. “Have you forgotten that Gideon and Montrose continue their work to sniff out all remnants of the slave trade?”